Florimel of Amber
by Xanderlike
Summary: Flora wasn't as loved as Deirdre. As powerful as Fiona. As noble as Llewella. But even at the beginning, she was a Princess of Amber. References to sexual assault, but mostly concerned with how Flora and Eric became close.
1. Chapter 1

One of the first things a child of my father must learn is to know her own strengths … and her weaknesses. This is a necessary thing not just because it is wisdom in of itself, but because our siblings will inevitably make use of both our abilities and our liabilities in order to achieve their goals. It is not always a pleasant thing to discard our illusions, but it is necessary if one intends to survive long in Amber.

And if I am nothing else, I am a survivor.

I am Florimel, Princess of Amber.

You may have heard of me, but I doubt that little of what was said was complimentary.

I understand this. I would be a liar if I said that it pleased me (and of course you know I'm a liar), but I know the reasons for it. I cannot profess to have many virtues (not with a straight face, anyway), but I have always taken pride in the fact that I see who and what I am when I look in the mirror.

No matter how the Shadows try to lie for me.

Bear with me. Like so many of my siblings, I am in love with the sound of my own voice. I like to imply that my long centuries of existence have imparted to me wisdom unknown and unknowable to mortals.

Of course, that's a lie.

In my experience, time in of itself does not impart wisdom. Experience, yes. Knowledge—if one chooses to seek it. But wisdom …

I have known fools who have lived for thousands of years, and children who still had their baby teeth who were far wiser than I.

But I digress …

I was about to speak of my virtues …

The first of those, of course, is frank self-appraisal.

Yes, I am beautiful … but then as a daughter of Amber that is not particularly noteworthy in of itself. Deirdre with her long dark hair, with that pale skin, with those eyes that so many men had lost themselves in (including Corwin) was at least as lovely as me. And to those who were not of our family—to those she had no reason to guard herself against—she was the kindest of creatures.

I am too much my father's daughter to feign things I do not feel, and I never shared her compassionate nature.

So I never tried.

And after a time, no one expected me to.

There were times when I envied Fiona. She has beauty (again, like all of us) and also a sharp intellect. Her knowledge is deep, her words are subtle—she has that knack for saying just the right thing … the sort of cutting remark that never occurs to me until long after the conversation is over and it does me no good.

Understand. I am not stupid, but I could spend a thousand years of study and I would never be one tenth the sorceress that Fiona is. Everyone would laugh their asses off if I had ever once expressed a belief that I could ever be as intelligent or talented as Fiona.

Of course not. I am Flora, the least of Amber's princesses. The youngest of Oberon's daughters, and the one that could never aspire to be anything other than a pretty face.

And then there is Llewella. Sweet, tragic Llewella. Llewella, the just. Llewella the noble. Llewella who was too good for Amber … too pure to partake in the intrigues of the Royal Family.

Daddy respected her for that.

He did not express disappointment in her failure to serve Amber. He did not demand obedience or service from her. No … Llewella was not passive … Llewella was not weak … she was PURE.

As I never was.

Daddy made sure of that.

When I had just turned fourteen, Daddy took me on a shadow walk with him. I had yet to walk the Pattern myself, and until that time I had never been alone with my father for more than ten minutes. I imagined that I had said or done something that had finally made him take notice of me, and I fancied that now he would see to my instruction in the arts of Shadow himself …

He didn't.

No, Daddy taught me well that day, but not the lessons I had hoped for.

I won't go into the details of our Shadow Walk. It's not that I don't recall them—it's just something I try not to think about too much.

We wound up in some little shadow that had taken his fancy before. The king there was much like my father—bigger than life, charming when he cared to be—and I suppose he was handsome in his rude fashion.

Daddy gave me to him.

It was a swap, you see. Daddy badly wanted this king's daughter, and the only way that he could find a way into her bed would be if he gave the king measure for measure. My innocence for his daughter's. A fair trade, if you will.

I clutched at his arm. I clung to his belt as he seized the other poor girl's wrist and led her off. When entreaties and commands failed to compel my obedience, he slapped me.

No, let's be honest here.

He _hit__ me._

I was still screaming for him when the king shut the door.

Later, after he had taken his pleasure from me, the king grew angry at me. He was angry that I had not been moved by his love making prowess. He was furious that I would not stop crying.

And like my father, he hit me.

He would have beaten me to death, I think, if I had not been a daughter of Amber. Even as a girl, even as a child, I had a strength that no shadow could hope to match—I learned that lesson that day too.

So did the king … though it was not a lesson that served him particularly well as I strangled him to death shortly after I realized that I could.

It was at that point that I decided that I wanted to live.

Sooner or later, the king's men would break through the door and they would find us. I could not yet walk in Shadow on my own. Daddy would be of no help to me—if he had not saved me before I had no reason to think he would do so now.

But I had one thing left to me. One faint hope.

When I clutched at Daddy's belt I had managed to steal one of his Trumps. I knew how to use one … it was one of the few things I had been taught.

The Trump I had? The Trump that I pinned my faint hopes of survival on?

Eric's.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric would not have been my first choice.

It's not that I disliked him. I didn't know him. He was already grown and I had only seen him on formal occasions.

He was family, but he was a stranger.

Why couldn't it have been Gerard's card? I knew Gerard—at least well enough to know that he would come get me if I asked for him. He was the only one I felt like I could count on.

But I didn't have Gerard's card. I had Eric's.

"Yes, what is it? Wait… who is this? Florence?"

"Florimel. Not Florence. I'm your little sister, Eric."

He was handsome. Possibly the best looking of all my brothers—even more so than Corwin. "I know you're my sister, Florimel. What are you doing with my Trump? What do you want from me?"

He sounded annoyed. He sounded angry.

I looked away from him … and it was then he must have seen the bruises on my neck.

"Florimel … Flora." His voice had turned gentle. I know you might not think that Eric could be gentle (I certainly hadn't until that moment) but he certainly could when he had reason to be so. "Flora, where are you? What happened?"

I told him.

His eyes grow angry again, but not at me. I don't know how I can explain that I knew it was not at me, but I knew it was so. "Oberon, you sick twisted …" He trailed off. "Flora, I'm going to bring you home through my Trump."

"I don't know how …"

"It's all right, little sister. I won't let anything happen to you. Not ever again. Just trust me."

I had trusted Daddy. I didn't want to trust Eric. I didn't want to trust anyone else ever again.

But I didn't have a choice.

"Take my hand, Flora. Take my hand and come to me."

I reached out and felt his hand take mine.

And then I was back in Amber and my big brother was holding me.

I cried then.

He wrapped his cloak around me, around my torn gown. "Do you want to walk or should I carry you?"

"Where are we going?"

"You need to see a doctor …"

"No! No doctor! I can't—they can't know what happened! No one can know!"

He frowned for a moment. "Okay. No doctor. Deirdre. Our sister. She'll take good care of you."

"You're leaving me?"

Yes, I sounded weak and pathetic—even to my own ears. But I couldn't help it. Somehow I felt safe in Eric's arms—and I didn't think I'd ever feel safe anywhere else.

"No. I'm not leaving you, Flora." He smiled then. "But you need more help than I can give. Come on."

He led me into one of the secret passages—the castle in Amber is littered with secret passages though I didn't know it until Eric showed me—and we came out near Deirdre's rooms.

"Eric?" It was night in Amber, and even though she had been sleeping she looked impossibly beautiful to me. "Who—Florimel?"

"Inside." Still holding my hand, Eric pushed his way past her and into her rooms. He sat me down on one of her couches. "Stay here, Flora. We'll just in the next room."

I nodded numbly.

I looked at my hands while they talked. My hands that I had used to kill a man. I could hear them talking, but not make out the words.

When they were done, Deirdre came out and told me that she was going to take care of me. She poured me a cup of wine and put something in it.

Maybe it was poison. I hoped it was poison. I was sick with fear. I just wanted it to all go away.

"Drink this, Flora." She gave me the cup and looked over at Eric. "Everything will be better in the morning."

I took the cup and drank deeply. Almost immediately, I felt myself getting drowsy. "No nightmares?" I pleaded.

"No nightmares, Flora." She kissed my forehead.

I closed my eyes and let Deirdre carry me to bed. I felt her hands gently remove my ruined garments and clothe me in one of her own gowns. I felt her tears fall on my face as she cleaned me up.

"He has to pay for this," Eric whispered angrily. "She's just a child."

"He's king, Eric. He has powers that we can't dream of—powers we can't face."

"I don't care. He let this happen—he MADE this happen. It's not right, Deirdre."

"No, it's not, but getting yourself killed in a spat with Father isn't going to help her either, Eric."

"Deirdre…"

"Use your head, Eric. We have to protect her now—make sure that Father never allows this sort of thing to happen again."

"You're the one who told me not to confront him."

"Not directly. But there are things that we can do. First, though, we take care of Florimel and make sure she's okay. I'll speak to our sisters."

"Our sisters? Why?"

"Because they're women, Eric. Regardless of his feelings, Benedict won't endanger the peace of the Realm over one girl even if she is our sister. Julian, Bleys, and Caine wouldn't take it seriously. Gerard would get himself killed confronting Father. Corwin … he would side with Father simply because this is something you care about."

"You think he would oppose your will in this?"

"Let's not put him to the test. I will talk to our sisters and see what advice they have to offer."

"Fine." I heard a chair being pulled up to the bed.

"What are you doing, Eric?"

"I told her that I wouldn't leave her. A Prince of Amber always keeps his word."

"There are battles you can't win with a sword, Eric."

"Perhaps not. But I made a promise to her." I felt him take one of my hands. "And as long as I live, I will keep it."

And for the first times since Daddy had struck me, I felt safe.

I let sleep claim me.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Eric was gone.

It hurt me.

Already I had come to depend on his promise to keep me safe, and without him I felt bereft, vulnerable—_weak_.

"Good morning, Florimel."

It wasn't Deirdre. It was another of my sister's. Fiona.

Fiona scared me.

And to this day, she still does.

"Eric—" I knew I shouldn't have let my first word be his name—I might as well have put a sign around my neck that said, _I'm Florimel—and I'm helpless!_—but I couldn't stop myself.

"Eric has duties to attend to this morning, Florimel." She looked at me with those hard, disapproving eyes. "And you would do well to remember that. He's a Prince of Amber—a son of our father. Do not count on him too much."

"Or you either?" I hated being in bed while she stood before me clothed and composed, and undoubtedly knowing what was done to me the night before. I despised myself for feeling so much like a child.

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "You're learning. Good. Deirdre had your clothing fetched for you. Dress and we will speak later."

"Daddy—" I couldn't keep the fear out of my voice.

"Our father is currently preoccupied with his own difficulties. It will be some time before he returns home, and when he does we will be ready for him."

Had my actions rebounded on Daddy? Was he being blamed for the murder of my rapist?

I felt a surge of savage pleasure at the thought.

_Good._

"Dress, Florimel. We have time, but not so much time that it should be wasted." She gave me another look. "I am taking valuable time from my studies to help you. Do not make me regret it."

"I'm sorry, sister—"

"Irrelevant. Do not waste time for things you have no control over, little sister." She reached out and took my hand. "Because you are young, I will give you what I would never share with another sister: advice. _Never _apologize to one of your siblings. Even if you feel that you should. Especially if you feel you should." She squeezed my hand and then let it go. "I'll be waiting."

"Will Deirdre be there?"

"She's out riding. With Corwin. Do not expect her return before lunch." She left.

I ached when I got out of the bed, but my bruises were already faded. Amberites heal much quicker than those of Shadow, and I knew that in a day or two no one else would ever be able to tell I had been beaten.

The bruises would fade quickly, but the memories … not so much.

But I could not hide in Deirdre's bed forever. I was a Princess of Amber. My childhood was gone, but my life remained. I had decided in that dead king's bed that I would live—and no matter what was required of me, I would survive.

I chose my favorite gown—how Deirdre who had spoken to me all of two times in my life before last night knew which one was my favorite I had no clue—and dressed myself and arranged my hair just so.

Clad once more in my gray and green, I was myself once more—or at least as much of myself as I could expect to be under the circumstances. I took a deep breath, and walked out of the bedroom and back into the light.

Fiona was sitting at a table breaking her fast. She gestured for me to join her, and I did so. There was a lot of food on the table, but not so much when we finished. I was surprised that I had such an appetite after everything, but I had not eaten since Daddy and I had left Amber the night before.

When I was finished, I looked at my sister.

"What was done to you was wrong, Florimel. You bear no blame in it. You have been wronged, and we—your other sisters and I—will do what we can to make sure that you receive justice."

"Deirdre said Daddy—that Father—was too powerful. That there was nothing we could do."

"Correction. There's nothing Eric can do, or any of our brothers with the possible exception of Brand. Our brothers tend to solve all their problems with a sword, little sister, and there are times when a blade cannot resolve all your difficulties. We cannot overwhelm Oberon with force, but we can shame him—and obtain his sacred oath to never do such a thing again."

"Why would he do it again? I'm ruined now." In those days, to a girl of my age, what was done to me, what was taken from me, shamed me forever. No king or emperor would want a wife who was no longer pure. I was damaged goods.

"You are _not_ ruined, Florimel. You are more than that. Or I should say you _can_ be more than that." She looked at me speculatively. "Do you want to be? Do you want to be a fairytale princess who must count on others for her rescue and hope for a happy ending—or do you want to be a Princess of Amber and make your own destiny?"

I knew what she was asking me.

I had been used. I had been abused. By the one person I should have been able to trust over all others. My own Father. He had not traded my innocence for the peace or prosperity of the kingdom. He had sold me for nothing more than a chance to do to that man's daughter what had been done to me.

I had two choices.

I could submit to Father's will upon his return. I could do what he told me. If I did that, I would be safer. Quite possibly I would live longer.

But I would no longer be me.

Or I could oppose him. I could declare that I would be no one's victim, no one's tool. Knowing that to do so might mean my death—and probably a long, nasty death it would be.

I closed my eyes and thought of those things. I do not flatter myself to think that my courage is any more exceptional than my wit.

But in the end, there was only one answer I could make.

I opened my eyes and looked into hers.

"I am Florimel," I whispered. "And I would be a Princess of Amber."


End file.
